The impossible choice
by Mrs Potter-Jackson-Holmes
Summary: "The clocks ticking John, so whose it gonna be?" John stared between his best friend and his wife. He knew if he didn't pick soon the whole building was going to blow. Slowly he aimed the gun. What happens when John is forced to shoot someone in the room. How could he pick between them? or is there another option? Possible Johnlock slash fic, definite bromance and plenty of fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N So I thought I would have a crack at a Sherlock fiction. I don't plan on making this a Johnlock at the moment but that** **may change. So enjoy and please tell me what you think :)**

JMS

John sat in front of the fireplace of 221b Baker Street and watched as Sherlock paced back and forth in front of him. He no longer lived here of course, but between escaping a hormonal wife and solving cases with Sherlock, he hardly ever left.

It had been two weeks since Moriaty's face had appeared throughout London, and since then it had happened three more times. No one could figure out how it was happening and the police couldn't even trace the signal. The perfect case for Sherlock Holmes.

"Eliminate"

John looked up from the fireplace, Sherlock had been muttering that word over and over again for the past hour.

"What are you talking about?" John finally asked.

Sherlock didn't answer, but instead continued pacing. About five minutes later he looked up at John.

"Did you say something?" He asked

John rolled his eyes. Typical.

"I said what are you talking about?"

Sherlock looked confused.

"Talking? I wasn't talking, when was I talking? Was I doing it again?"

Now it was John's turn to be confused.

"Doing what?"

"Never mind. What did I say?"

"You keep repeating eliminate over and over again" John replied. "You've been doing it for the past hour now."

Sherlock stopped pacing and went over to the wall where he had stuck all his theories on the case. There was writing over all the pages and pictures. For the past two weeks all Sherlock had done was pace the room, play his violin or stare at this wall.

"I'm trying to eliminate all the impossible or least likely theories. I keep telling myself that it's impossible for Moriaty to be alive because I saw him die. Then again," he said clearly seeing the hole in that theory, "you also saw me die and I'm clearly not dead"

John cringed at the memory and for a second something flittered across Sherlock's face. Was that guilt? It was replaced a second later by his expressionless mask, and John convinced himself it had been his imagination.

"So what do we do then?" John asked. "We have no leads and all our theories are less likely than the last?"

As John said this, Sherlock's phone buzzed. He picked it up and John knew immediately that something was wrong.

"No, it can't be." Sherlock said

"What is it?" He asked Sherlock who now looked deep in thought. Sherlock didn't sound worried exactly, more like he genuinely didn't believe what he has just read.

He handed the phone over to John wordlessly.

_SH_

_Did you miss me?_

_JMS_

John could feel his stomach sinking. If Moriaty really was back...

But no. He read the text again and he noticed what he hadn't the first time.

"Who's JMS?" He asked Sherlock

"If JMS stands for what I think it does than we may end up wishing that Moriaty really was behind this all."

"Who is he then?" John asked.

"About five years ago there where two identical cases of serial murder almost back to back. The first time five people where killed, all in similar situations, eventually Lestrade and I managed to track down and arrest the man responsible with help from a bartender from New Jersey and a woman with one arm."

John gave sherlock a quizzical look.

"Long story."

"So then that's who he is?" John asked, confused. Why was Sherlock so worried about a murderer?

"No." sherlock answered offering no further explanation.

"Then what does that have to do with the message?"

"Use your brain John, what happened next?" Sherlock said, clearly frustrated at John. "Think."

"How am I supposed to know?" John asked feeling slightly defensive.

"It was all over the news. Everyone in London heard about it."

"I wasn't in London" John replied so quietly that Sherlock almost missed it.

The guilty look flittered across Sherlock's face again. There was an awkward silence between the two of them until Sherlock continued with his explanation.

"Well once we had arrested him we thought the case was closed, but a week later the murders started again. For a while there we thought we had arrested the wrong man. Until I realized there was one difference between these murders and the original murders. Wherever we found a body there was always the letters CC marked at the crime scene."

"What does CC stand for?"

"Copy cat. Quite an unoriginal nickname if you ask me, but we thought CC was his initials until one of the crime scenes was marked Copy cat instead. We eventually found out his real name though. Jeffery Michael Sanderson, the criminal copy cat. Once we figured who was behind it the murders stopped and we never heard anything about him again. We went through a couple of other cases where the crimes had continued after the perpetrator had been arrested and all the photos from the crime scenes had CC somewhere."

"So what's he doing now? Why is he using Moriaty's picture?"

"I think, perhaps, we may have a problem on our hands." Sherlock replied, almost excited.

"I still don't follow." John said feeling rather stupid.

"Well think about it John. A man that copies the patterns of other criminals, now broadcasting Moriaty's face all over London."

"So we have a Moriaty impersonator on the loose?" John asked, stomach sinking.

"Not just that John, who was Moriaty's main target?"

"You." John answered, realization sinking in.

"And in turn you John. I'm sorry. But I swear I'm not going to stop until this man is behind bars." Sherlock said.

That was the most sincere thing John had ever heard sherlock say and was slightly taken aback.

There was silence in the room until Sherlock's phone, that John was still holding, buzzed.

John read the message and his heart nearly stopped.

_JW_

_So the two of you have figured_ _me out? About time._

_CC_

Sherlock saw the look on John's face and moved behind him to read the message.

"He must have bugged the apartment to listen to our conversation." Sherlock said, not seeming overly bothered by it.

John shook his head. Sherlock hadn't seen it. That was a first.

"Look at the top of the message." John said unable to pull his eyes away.

Sherlock looked back at the message and John finally looked up. He saw the realization cross Sherlock's face and knew he'd seen it too.

"He must have cameras in here or someone watching the apartment." Sherlock said, already looking around for them.

Suddenly his head snapped up and he bolted out the apartment door and down the stairs.

John was just about to follow when Sherlock's phone buzzed again. He looked down and the message he read made his blood run cold.

JW

How's Mary?

CC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Hey guys sorry about the delay in update but I have been quite busy. Also sorry in advance for the terrible cliffy. Enjoy:)**

Sherlock re-entered the room and saw John just standing there, staring down at the phone. Sherlock could see that his breathing and pulse had quickened and the colour had drained from his already pale face.

"What is it John?" The detective asked him. It took a lot to rattle John Watson, and to see him standing there almost going into shock scared Sherlock more than he cared to admit. Snapping out of his stupor, John looked up at Sherlock.

Gripping the phone, he spoke. "It's-"

"-Mary." Sherlock said before he could continue. John's face only confirmed his suspicions.

"I thought as much. Where is she?"

"The apartment. We have to go." John replied, fighting down the terror rising in his throat.

He raced out of the apartment with Sherlock at his heels.

"MARY, MARY ARE YOU IN HERE?" John called out as he entered the apartment. He knew however as soon as he looked around that something was wrong. The room was a complete mess. There where bookshelves lying on the floor, tables overturned and, John realised with a sinking feeling, bullet holes in the wall.

"Oh my god" He whispered, crouching down and covering his face with his hands.

Mary was gone.

He heard Sherlock enter the room having stayed behind to pay the cab driver. John heard the sharp intake of breath as he took in the scene. John, collecting himself, stood up and faced Sherlock.

"She's not here" He said, voice cracking.

"I know, I'm sorry John" Sherlock said "But I swear, no matter what it takes I will get her back"

John was about to reply when he heard Sherlock's phone buzz. He grabbed the detectives phone out of his hands before he had a chance to look at the message.

_JW_

_I assume by now you know I have your wife. I suggest not contacting Inspector Lestrade if you ever want to see her alive again. I have sent an address to this phone. Meet me there. The two of you come alone or don't come at all. And remember, the clocks ticking._

_JMS_

John was again, staring shell shocked at the phone. Sherlock gently took the phone from him and read through the message.

"I have the address, are you coming?" He asked John. "I told the cab to wait out the front"

"It's a trap," John said, still slightly dazed.

"Obviously, now are you coming or not?" He asked again, already heading towards the door.

John nodded and followed him out, his heart pounding as he thought of where Mary might be.

Once they where back in the cab, Sherlock glanced over at John and noticed him wringing his hands.

"You know I meant what I said right? No matter what it takes I will get her back." Sherlock said, looking more sincere than John had ever seen him.

"I know, that's what worries me." The conversation ended and the two of them lapsed into a tense silence.

The cab stopped out the front of an office building that had people rushing in and out of it wearing suits and carrying briefcases.

"This can't be good" John muttered as he climbed out the cab.

"Indeed" Sherlock replied, buttoning up his jacket and turning up his collar as he made his way towards the front of the building. John had to jog to keep up with the detectives long strides.

_'At least nothing too bad can happen'_ he thought to himself, relaxing a little._ 'After all, it's a building teeming with people.'_

Sherlock didn't stop until he reached the elevator on the opposite side of the room.

"Where exactly are we going?" John asked Sherlock quietly.

"Level 5, room 13. Doesn't that sound promising?" He replied with a small smirk.

The elevator opened and even more people poured out.

Once they where inside with the doors shut, John turned to Sherlock.

"Why would he he do this in a public building. Doesn't that make he's job even harder?"

"There's a bomb in the building." He replied simply, not looking particularly bothered by it.

"WHAT?" John yelped. "How could you possibly know that?"  
He added.

"Think about it, the first case of Moriaty's we solved together. What was he doing?

"But that doesn't mean there's a bomb in the building." John replied, knowing he probably shouldn't doubt Sherlock.

"Well if you put all the clues together it's quite obvious. There's our first case with Moriaty, the crowded building and the message." He said in his matter of fact tone.

"Wait, what message?" John asked feeling just as confused as before.

"What else did you think 'the clock is ticking' meant?"

John realized, with a sinking feeling, that Sherlock was right.

"We need to get everyone out of here." He said remembering all the people that were in the building.

"If we do that the bomb will be detonated before we could get them to the door."

"How could you possibly know that?" John asked not wanting to leave the people downstairs unaware if the danger they were in.

"John, it's my job to think like criminals. And your forgetting, this is not the first time I've dealt with this particular one."

John opened his mouth to respond. Before he got the chance however, the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

The two of them stepped out into a deserted hallway. From the looks of things, this part of the building was no longer in use, and hadn't been for some time. They walked along until they found room 13. Sherlock reached for the handle but as he went to turn it, John stopped him.

"Wait" he said, pulling his gun out of his back pocket. He held it out in front of him and nodded to Sherlock.

Sherlock opened the door and John entered first, still holding the gun in front of him. The room was completely bare except for a bright red line drawn through the carpet. On the other side of the room was a door that must've lead to another office. John crossed the line and tried the door, which was locked.

"Damn" he cursed.

Sherlock, who had been examining the back of the door, called out to John.

"Make sure you don't cross the line yet until we know..."

"Too late" John said realizing he had probably just made a huge mistake.

Sherlock's head snapped around and was about to cross the room, when a voice crackled to life over the loudspeaker.

"Nobody move." It said. "Dr Watson and Mr Holmes, how are you?"

John and Sherlock exchange looks across the room. The mans voice was rather charismatic and soft, almost like Moriarty's had been but with a harsher edge to it.

"Oh don't be like that, I wont bite. Hard" The voice said.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, surveying the room for cameras and speakers.

"I'm bored." The voice said.

John shuddered at the familiar words

"And unless you want the whole building blowing up, I suggest you do as I say. Now stay where you are."

"Where's Mary?" John asked looking around the room. as i expecting her to be in there somewhere.

"Oh she should be along any minute now."

As he said this, the door Sherlock and John had come through opened, and a man in a black suit pushed Mary into the room. The door slammed shut again and they heard lock click.

"Are you ok?" John asked Mary, unable to see any signs of physical damage. Mary nodded, and opened her mouth to say something, but as interrupted by the voice over the loudspeaker.

"Now that you're all here, let's have some fun." John and Sherlock exchanged another look. It really was unnerving, how much like Moriaty Sanderson was.

"You know of course there's a bomb in the building. You have seven minutes until it goes off, killing everyone in the building."

"Unless...?" John prompted.

"Unless you shoot somebody in the room" He answered. You could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"How do we know your not bluffing?" Sherlock inquired looking at a particular spot on the wall. Most likely the camera he had been looking for.

"And are you really prepared to test that Mr Holmes?" The voice asked.

John could see the gears in Sherlock's head as he tried to figure out a way out of this. He waited patiently. Sherlock always managed to get them out of these situations, and today, he hoped, was no exception.

"Vatican cameo" Sherlock said, and John could see the pain in his face. He realized what Sherlock meant and looked down at his gun. How could he do this. He'd shot men before, but he had never been forced to choose between his best friend and his pregnant wife.

"I'm so sorry John. I truly am."

"That's right boys. No way out of this one. Either John shoots someone or the whole building blows."

Mary, who had only just realized what was going on looked at John.

"I'm sorry John but you know what you need to do. If you kill me our baby dies too."

"I'm not going to bloody shoot my best friend." John said, feeling more than desperate.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice John" Sherlock said. "Mary's right, you can't shoot her, and I swore to protect you."

"Sherlock just stop, stop it." John said, voice breaking.

"What?" He asked looking genuinely confused.

"You're so eager to sacrifice yourself. I"m not going to shoot you. I cant loose you again. You're my best friend."

Sherlock, for once was lost for words.

"Well isn't this touching. I'm moved, I really am. Two minutes." Sanderson said, completely deadpan and monotone now.

"The clocks ticking John, so whose it gonna be?" John stared between his best friend and his wife. He knew if he didn't pick soon the whole building was going to blow.

_Unless you shoot somebody in the room. _The words swam through his head, and he realized what he had to do.

Slowly he aimed the gun


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Ok so this chapter is a little shorter but I like where it ended. And since your craving a new chapter Zeopraxis, here it is. Enjoy :) . **

_Unless you shoot somebody in the room_. The words swam through his head, and he realized what he had to do.

Slowly he aimed the gun

"JOHN NO" Sherlock cried as he realised what John was about to do.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I don't have a choice. I'm not going to shoot you."

He took a deep breath. His eyes met Sherlock's one more time and he could see the pleading in them. He looked away and saw Mary standing there shell shocked and staring at where the gun was aimed.

"I'm sorry" he said. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

He took another breath, gathered his courage and squeezed the trigger.

He felt the bullet rip through him and his chest flared with pain. He was vaguely aware of the gasps that came from the other side of the room,as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He dropped the gun and clutched at his chest where the bullet had entered. He could already feel the blood soaking into his shirt as he fell forward, the world starting to swim in and out of focus.

"NO" Sherlock cried out, running forward, no longer caring about the line. He caught John just before he hit the ground.

Sherlock could see that John was in bad shape. His eyes were half closed, his face was white as a sheet and his entire chest was covered in blood. Sherlock ripped the scarf off from around his neck and held it to John's chest, remembering what John had told him when they had been trying to save Bainbridge. With one arm still around John, he gently tapped his face.

"Come on John, stay with me, you're going to be alright. There's an ambulance on the way."

John managed a faint smile, knowing Sherlock would have texted Lestrade with his phone still in his pocket.

"See we did have the upper hand." He said quietly and Sherlock was amazed that he still had his sense of humour.

John's eyes started shifting out of focus and Sherlock tapped him again.

"John stay awake. it won't be long now I promise." Sherlock could hear the sirens, still a couple of blocks away.

"I'm sorry Sherlock" John said, even quieter than before.

The concern on Sherlock's face was momentarily replaced with confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to leave you all alone." He replied, looking genuinely concerned for Sherlock, which struck him as odd, given the current circumstances.

"Don't talk like that, You're not going anywhere, I promise. After all, who else am I going to annoy?"

John smiled again, but it didn't last long as his face screwed up in pain again. Sherlock pulled him closer and tried to stop the bleeding as best he could. John's eyes slowly shut and his breathing began getting more and more shallow.

"John, JOHN" Sherlock called out, but got no response. He could feel the tears starting to run down his face, and didn't even bother to try and hide them. He could vaguely hear the sound of sirens, closer now, and a voice over the loud speaker. But for once in his life, Sherlock was aware of nothing else but his best friend, lying half dead in his arms.

He would never admit to it later, but after that he remembered very little. He remembered Mary coming back in, (when had she left?) with the paramedics in tow. He vaguely remembered leaving the building, and not much else until he was in the ambulance with John. He knew Lestrade was heading to the hospital behind the ambulance but could not remember talking to him.

It broke his heart to see John lying on the stretcher, clearly in pain, and knowing that it was his fault. The only reason John got hurt was because of him and his failure to catch one stupid criminal. He took John's hand who was still unconscience. All he could do was sit there, silently urging the ambulance to go faster and willing John to hold on just a little longer. .


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N So, I totally uploaded this chapter without an authors note. Oops. I'm sorry about the delayed update, I've had a crap load of assignments. But it's here now so I hope you enjoy :) **

Sherlock Holmes did not pray, nor did he ask his brother for help. As far as he had been concerned, those were the two things he would never do. Yet in the last three hours, he'd done both.

When they had first arrived at the hospital, John was whisked off to surgery immediately and Sherlock was left in the waiting room. He managed to convince Mary to go home and get some sleep, seeing as john wouldn't wake until at least the next day. Mary agreed, making it very clear to Sherlock she would not be going if she were not pregnant.

Once she had left, Sherlock was left alone in the waiting room, pacing back and forth, much to the annoyance of the other occupants of the room.

After what felt like an eternity, a nurse finally entered the room and asked for him. Before she had a chance to talk, Sherlock hounded her with questions.

"Is he alright? Where is he? Can I see him?" This outburst surprised even Sherlock, who was normally the level headed one in any situation. The nurse held up her hand to silence him.

"He's stable for now, we're just moving him into recovery. I need to discuss the matter of where he'll be staying with his next of kin. Is that you?"

Sherlock nodded. There was no point dragging Mary all the way back down here for a simple matter.

"Alright. Do you have any insurance or enough money to pay for a private room? If not we'll have to leave him in the recovery ward and he'll only be allowed one visitor at a time, for no more than an hour."

Sherlock sighed. despite the job he had, they didn't have nearly enough money to afford a private room, and he had no intention of leaving john alone.

"Can you give me a minute? I need to make a phone call."

The nurse nodded, and walked away to wait.

Sherlock got out his phone and, scrolling through the contacts, found who he was looking for.

Mycroft Holmes

Swallowing his pride, he hit call. This was for John.

"My dear brother, to what do I owe the pleasure? Mycroft asked as he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Holding back his biting remark, Sherlock replied;

"I need you to pull some strings"

"Straight to the point as always. What do you need?" Mycroft asked.

He would never admit it but his was slightly concerned. Not only did his brother never call if he could text, but he definitely did not ask for help.

"John was shot"

Sherlock didn't have time to finish before Mycroft cut him off.

"Who shot him?"

"If you insist on knowing the whole story I will explain it in person. We need a hospital room, he may be here for a while"

"All right i'll make the call. I'll be at the hospital shortly."

"Send some of your men to watch his house. Mary may still be in danger."

"Very well" Mycroft replied. "Goodbye Sherlock"

And with that the phone call ended.

The nurse, seeing that Sherlock was done, walked back over.

"I think you'll find everything has been arranged" Sherlock told her. Mycroft was, if nothing else, a quick worker. "I think we're done here, I would like to go find out where my friend is staying" He added, striding past her.

"I already told you, he's in the recovery ward, he hasn't been moved yet."

Sherlock just smirked and continued walking.

He approached the front desk, and without even waiting for the nurse to look up he said

"I'm looking for John Watson"

She was taken aback at his abrupt attitude.

"Umm, sure I'll just, uhh find him for you" She replied as she started typing into her computer.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _And they say I'm bad with people. At least its not my job to deal with them everyday._

"Was that Dr John Hamish Watson you were looking for?" She asked, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face.

"Yes" he replied, already tired of dealing with her.

"He's in room 31, right next to the recovery ward."

Sherlock walked away, heading towards the room, without another word.

When he found the room, he knocked on the door and waited to see if there was still a nurse in there. getting no reply he entered. The room was the biggest hospital room Sherlock had seen. It was obviously one reserved for people of high status or with a _lot_ of money. The floor, surprisingly, was covered in carpet, and there was even a lounge at one end of the room. The bed could fit at least two people, easy, possibly three. The thing that caught sherlocks attention however, was John. He was paler than Sherlock had ever seen him, and had far too many machines attached to him for sherlocks liking. He thought back to what the nurse had said.

He's stable for now.

_For now. _

Sherlock swallowed the lump forming in his throat and approached the bed slowly, almost cautiously. He sat down on the chair next to John's bed. He knew all too well what getting shot could do to your body, and he hadn't even been that close to the bullet. John on the other hand, had the gun right up against his chest at the time. Sherlock wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, given that he was not one to show any sort of affection or comfort, but he reached out and took one of John's cold hands in his own. He was lost in thought when he heard his phone buzz.

Sorry I took so long, had to stop by the station. Where are you? GL

Room 31, recovery ward SH

Sherlock texted back, returning his phone to his pocket. Not long after there was a knock at the door.

"Come in" he called out, letting go of John's hand, and taking a moment to compose himself.

He stood up and walked over to the door, as Lestrade came in.

"Sorry about that. I had to go back to the station before heading out here. I was hoping we would be able to catch Sanderson before he got too far. I have my men stationed in a 10km radius of the building and we've got all the main roads covered.

"Won't help." Sherlock replied simply, offering no further explanation.

Lestrade sighed.

"And why not" he asked, exasperated.

"He wasn't in the building. As far as I could tell he never had been. He was speaking to us over an intercom and the room was set up with cameras. Besides if you were planning to set off a bomb I'm sure you would rather be as far away from it as possible. For all we know he's not even in London anymore. That seems unlikely however, given that John didn't die. Its possible he may come back for him.

As he said the last part, he glanced over at John, his features betraying only a small portion of the concern he had for his friend.

"Well I suppose my men need new orders then." Lestrade said, sighing again. "I'll make sure i have them on an around the clock watch of this room until we catch Sanderson. Don't worry sherlock, I'll make sure they cant get to John." He added

Sherlock scoffed at the mans attempt to comfort him, but said nothing. They stood there in an awkward silence for a moment before Lestrade cleared hi throat, asking;

"So how is he?"

Sherlock glanced over at John again, and the man machines he was attached to.

"They said he's stable at the moment, but I suspect there's quite a lot of internal damage, given the close proximity of the gun when he fired it."

Sherlock paused for a moment, thinking.

"You do know what happened don't you"

Lestrade looked confused for a moment before saying slowly.

"Yea... you told me before you left in the ambulance."

Sherlock was taken aback for a moment before recovering.

"Of course, i just wasn't sure that your tiny brain would remember"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. While not out of character, the insult had been rather unexpected.

"Right. Well I, uhh, best be going then. I'll get my men down here as soon as i can."

With a small nod from Sherlock, he left the room, closing the door as he went.

Sherlock moved back to his seat by John's bed. He took his friends hand again, and silently prayed to any god or deity he could think of, that John would be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so sorry for the delay in an update, just finished my end of year exams. But, here it is. Also, a warning for the next chapter, there will be a character death, but I'll let you know now, it's not John. So, Hope you enjoy :)**

Sherlock paced back and forth in front of Johns bed, unable to sit still. The only sound in the room was the reassuring beep of John's heart monitor and the sound of Sherlock's shoes on the cold hospital. He had only been there two hours, and already he would've given anything to hear the sound of John's voice, breaking the silence.

His pacing was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Mycroft entered the room.

"Mycroft" Sherlock said, in way of a greeting.

Mycroft gave him a small nod, and his eyes flicked over to John's prone form for a second.

"How are you brother mine?" He asked, his usual emotionless expression on his face, umbrella gripped in his hand.

"Fine" Sherlock replied stiffly, straightening a little and matching his brothers expression.

Mycroft stood there for a moment, evidently thinking.

"What happened?" He asked. It unnerved him more than he cared to admit that this had all gone down without his knowledge. Every other case and situation Sherlock and John got into he knew about and he was always on the scene for the worst ones. But this had all happened without his knowledge, until Sherlock had contacted Mycroft himself. He watched his brother, waiting for a response.

Sherlock glanced back at John for a moment, before he resumed his pacing, and recounted the story to Mycroft, missing no details. He almost forgot he was talking to someone, and was doing it for his own benefit, trying to figure out if there was something he had missed the first time. Something that would lead him to Sanderson.

Mycroft looked thoughtful, studying his brother.

"And what do you plan to do now?" He asked, tilting his head just slightly.

"I'm staying here with John." He replied, and while Mycroft knew how fond Sherlock was of John, this rather surprising.

"Here in the hospital? Indeed" He said, as though answering his own question. "You hate hospitals" It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. Is there a point to this Mycroft?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Sentiment. Sherlock" He said, but it wasn't malicious or condescending. Simply stating a fact once more.

"I'm not a sentimental man brother. But as far as I can tell Sanderson's not done with us and I'm not leaving John alone, especially not defenceless." He said, but even he knew there was more to it.

"And how is the doctor?" Mycroft asked, now turning his attention back to John.

Sherlock sighed. "All they've told me is that he's stable for now" Sherlock said, and finally, Mycroft could see a small glimmer of the emotions his brother was hiding.

"I can't loose him Mycroft." The almost whispered words, were a surprise to both the Holmes brothers, and Mycroft's features softened just a bit.

"I'm sure he'll pull through. He's a soldier and an expectant father. I don't think he's going anywhere anytime soon." He said. His hands shifted for a moment and he hesitated, but simply tightened his grip on the umbrella.

Sherlock sighed, nodded and continued pacing. "I'm going to find him. Lestrade's men are out searching but they won't find him anywhere near the scene. He's too smart for that. But it's not going to take him long to figure out John survived, assuming he doesn't already. He's going to be back, and he's thinking like Moriaty which means…..." Sherlock trailed off, eyes widening and once again started pacing.

"Yes, yes of course, yes, oh that's brilliant, perfect" Sherlock looked almost excited, forgetting Mycroft was there for a moment. Usually he would ramble to John, but his brother would have to do.

"Moriaty didn't want to just kill me, that was too simple. No he wanted to destroy me, ruin me. So what if…"

"That is what Sanderson's going to do" Mycroft finished, raising an eyebrow. "I suppose then we need to question just how well Sanderson knew Moriaty, and how well he knew Moriaty's true motives. In the past he's simply committed petty murders and crimes but this is different." He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before adding "I'll be looking into the relationship between the two men, see what I can find, since you'll be here"

Sherlock nodded, but was barely listening now. His mind was working at a hundred miles an hour, trying to deduce what Sanderson's next move might be. This continued for a while, before Mycroft cleared his throat.

Sherlock paused, turning to face him, slightly surprised he was still here.

"Yes?"

"I really must be getting back to work"

"Ok"

They stood there in an awkward silence for a moment. Finally, Mycroft pulled himself up to his full height, brushing his immaculate suit jacket off, and turning towards the door.

"I'll be in touch brother mine" He said, pulling the door open and stepping out, before pausing. "And do take care of yourself." He added, and then he was gone. Sherlock blinked at the door a few times, once again surprised at how genuine that had sounded, before scoffing, and starting to pace again. Probabaly just a formality. After another moment, he stalked out of the room to go find somewhere to buy a decent cup of tea.

It had been two days. Sherlock hadn't slept, or eaten, nor moved from John's side. Mary had been in and out, but could never stay long. Her energy was being drained by the baby, now two weeks away, and Sherlock wouldn't let her stay too long. He wanted to make sure the baby would be okay. The nurses that came in to check on John had urged him to go home, but he had simply glared at them, or ignored them completely.

He had asked Mrs Hudson to ring his laptop and violin when she came to visit, and was currently playing it. The music had always soothed him through his nightmares, though neither man ever acknowledged the arrangement. Sherlock hoped, that perhaps it would bring him back now.

That's what he had been doing when he got the call. Playing one of John's favourite songs, when his phone buzzed.

"Mycroft?" He said, not even needing to check anymore.

"My men are taking Mary to the hospital. She's in labour"

Sherlock froze, eyes darting to John's still form.

"What? She's not due yet. John's still unconscious" There was the barest trace of panic in his voice. Mycroft, however, did not comment.

"Stress induced, they think there may be complications. They'll be there any minute now."

Sherlock barely let him finish, before he was hanging up the phone and rushing from the room, violin bow still in hand. He had only made it a few steps down the hall, when he froze again, and his blood ran cold.

John was flatlining.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Hey guys, guess what I'm actually not dead. I'm sorry about the delay but once again, school got in the way. Grduation is only a few weeks away so after that I'm hoping my chapters will be more frequent. But as always, hope you enjoy :)**

Sherlock sucked in a shallow breath, still frozen to the spot. His mind was working overtime, trying to make a decision. Realistically, there was nothing he could do for John, and there were already nurses and doctors rushing past the detective to the room. Logically, he should be there for Mary in place of his friend. See her through the labour. Logic told him to hurry up and get to the delivery ward, and wait for her. Without another thought, Sherlock turned and hurried back to John's room.

He wasn't of course, allowed inside with the flurry of nurses and doctors currently in there, and instead, he spent the next ten minutes, pacing in front of the door, mentally cursing the stupid doctors and the stupid machines and his stupid self for not preventing this. But finally, the reassuring, steady beep of a heart monitor could be heard, and the doctors began filling out. He was finally allowed back in.

Sherlock stepped into the room, looking rather helplessly at the form of his best friend, whom he'd once again nearly lost. And that's when the emotions finally began bubbling up, in a flurry of uncontrollable force. He opened his mouth, and much to even his own surprise, he shouted at John. Yelled at him, cursed him for trying to leave him and yelled at him to wake up. He kept yelling, even as he felt the tears finally beginning to fall, unchecked down his face. He cursed and he yelled, upset, and beyond angry that John would do this to him. And that he would be so noble as to take the bullet for Sherlock, when he would've much preferred taking it himself.

And that was when it hit Sherlock. Mid shout, mouth hanging open, that this was how John had felt. He finally understood the anger, and sorrow in John's eyes when he had seen Sherlock alive again. He understood, how someone could be so hurt by another person's actions, regardless of the intentions or motivations behind them, that the hurt would turn into anger. A kind of blind furry that tore you apart from the inside, and made you want the rest of the world to feel the same agony you did.

The realisation hit him hard. So much so that the wind was knocked from his lungs and he was left, mid shout, staring blankly at John as the tears continued to fall. But just as he thought everything inside him would crumble, that he'd finally been broken and his walls destroyed, there was a strong grip pulling him from the room, and warm arms enveloping him, pressing him against a body wearing a pristine suit, that was both completely familiar and yet somehow entirely foreign to him. He melted, not even trying to pull away, his tears wetting and his face crumpling the suit, the owner of which, for once, not seeming to care. He simply kept his arms wrapped around his little brother, not saying a word, because when it came down to it, for all their flash and sharpness, they weren't needed. They both understood.

Then the moment passed and as always Sherlock was the first to pull away, severing the contact and swiping at his eyes, furious at himself for letting the moment of weakness happen. Mycroft looked down at Sherlock, saying only;

"Go help Mary"

It was all Sherlock needed, and he turned on his heel to flee the scene of what he saw as a crime, hurrying away, refocusing his mind on getting to Mary and doing what he could to help her.

When he got there, it was somewhat of a chaotic scene. There were two nurses and a doctor in there, all rushing around the room to get things set up, and amongst them a rather distressed looking Mary.

Ignoring the rest in the room, Sherlock made his way over to her side, taking her hand and offering her a reassuring smile.

"How are you feeling" he asked, using almost everything he'd learnt from John to sound like he cared. Not that he didn't, of course, but his methods were often misconstrued and got him kicked out of places.

"Like crap" She told him honestly, and it was all over her face. She was clearly in pain. He took her hand, unsure what else to do and almost immediately she clamped down on it, face screwing up with another contraction.

But by now the doctors were far more urgent, talking to each other rapidly and Sherlock managed to catch a few words with his attention still on mary.

"Cesarean"

"In distress"

"Could be risky"

He felt his stomach drop a little and glanced over at the blonde woman in the bed, who seemed to remain blissfully ignorant of what they were saying, too caught up in her wn situation. As the conversation ended one of the nurses approached Mary and smiled, that sickly sweet one that screamed out fake.

"Alright honey we're going to have to prep you for a C-section. There seem to be some complications and at this point a natural birth would be too risky for you and the baby" She explained.

Mary of course, was almost as skilled at hiding her emotions as Sherlock was, but of course the detective didn't miss the flicker of panic in her eyes.

"It will be alright" Sherlock told her, and much to his chagrin he was ushered out of the room as they started to prep her.

Sherlock knew, in emergency situations the procedure could be over in no more than five minutes. And so the longer he waited the more agitated he got. Fifteen minutes, he started tapping his foot. 30 minutes, he would get up, start walking then sit back down, before repeating. By the time and hour rolled around he was pacing rather intensely, much to the annoyance of the rest of the people in the waiting room.

By the time the doctor the doctor finally called his name, he whirled around, looking at the man expectantly and he knew.

His face, the amount of blood on his scrubs, far more than the procedure would have produced, his stance.

"The baby's fine' The doctor told him gently, and in those three words held so much more. The baby may be fine,

_But Mary wasn't_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N All your reviews have been so wonderful and sweet that I really want to try and get into a regular update pattern. I've finally finished school so that isn't going to get in the way anymore! But thank you so much for all the support and your reviews, even just reading the story means a lot to me. Also, I kept this chapter as short as the rest, because I want to find out what you all think about the direction of the story. Should I add in the events of season 4? I think they would fit nicely, unless you'd rather i make it completely original. I'm also considering making this eventual Johnlock, so I would like to hear what you would think of that?**

**But enough blabbing, hope you enjoy :)**

Sherlock Holmes, was a man of many words. He always had something to say, no matter how harsh and critical, in every situation. But currently, he was entirely speechless. The fact that he had no one to talk to was entirely beside the point, seeing as it rarely stopped him anyway. He stared, unmoving, hardly blinking, at the little baby in the cot amongst all the other newborns. She was so small, so precious that sherlock had a hard time clasping that she could have come from such a tragedy. In fact, the only reason he hadn't deleted that knowledge entirely was that he knew he was going to be the one to tell john. He wasn't going to let the doctors do it. After the sacrifice John had made, he deserved better. And as much as sherlock tried to block it all from his mind, the fragmented bits of the conversation he'd actually taken in came back.

"Hemorrhaging"

"Bleeding internal"

"I'm sorry Mr Holmes"

"One last request"

"Rosie"

Sherlock swallowed hard, sucking in a small breath and turned away from the window, his feet automatically taking him along the well worn path to John's room. The man was stable again, but sherlock couldn't help but think things weren't going to get better for the man once he woke, now a father, and a widow.

It hit sherlock painfully, that he'd failed. With John out of action he should have, more than ever, been there to keep his vow to mary. He should have stopped by more, instead of staying at the hospital. He should have gone to her instead of John because there was nothing he could have done for the man but maybe being there to help mary through her labour, maybe being there before it had even started….

He let out a sound of frustration, picking his violin up from it's stand. He'd been playing more and more for John lately, hoping that maybe, somehow John could hear it. Be comforted or, better still, come back to him. So he started playing. Pouring every emotion he had into it and losing himself to the music. Playing for Mary, who would never see her daughter grow up, For Rosie who now had to live without her mother, who hadn't even been held by someone who loved her because sherlock refused to hold her before John had. It was only right. And, he played for john who had made the ultimate sacrifice to save his family, only to wake up and find out it had been torn away.

He lost himself so much, that he didn't notice when John's finger twitched. Not the spike in the heart monitor or the slow breath in, but when John groaned softly, those blue-grey eyes finally opening, the bow fell from Sherlock's hand, the violin back on the stand in an instant, and sherlock was at John's bed just as quick. "John?" Sherlock breathed, hardly even daring to believe that the man was finally waking up. But he couldn't deny what he saw, watching as John blinked heavily, eyes glazed and drifting to sherlock, trying to focus on him. In not time, nurses were in the room, removing the tube from John's throat, checking his vitals and the feeling in his body, before leaving the two of them alone, a nasal cannula replacing the tube.

"Sh'lock" John rasped slowly, voice rough and pained from not being used, scratchy and hoarse as it came out. He winced slightly, swallowing a few times but his mouth was dry as sandpaper.

"Here" sherlock said with an uncharacteristic gentleness to his voice, as he held a spoonful of the crushed ice on the bedside table to his lips, and then another when he was done with the first.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked softly, putting the ice down, concerned eyes meeting John's, once again surprising the doctor.

"Like crap" John rasped, eyes crinkling up in a slight smile, and sherlock returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. In fact, a stab of horrible pain and guilt went through him, remembering the last time he'd heard those words had been from mary just before…

He swallowed hard, schooling his emotions and face, adjusting John's sheets in a rather endearing way, had he not been doing it to avoid looking at John.

"You should rest, You've been unconscious for two days and we have a lot to talk about" he said, standing back up, but of course, John would never let it go that easily, because he'd noticed that one very important person to him was missing, and right now he needed to see her. Needed to see that despite his own condition, her and the baby she carried were ok.

"Sherlock, where's mary?" He asked hoarsely, and sherlock felt his heart plummet. He didn't want to have this conversation, regardless of his early thoughts, and knowing that he was going to be the one to tell John, and in fact the reason this all happened in the first place, instead of making him feel bad, which it did of course, it made him shut down. He switched off his emotions, made sure his face remained blank, and sat down by John's bed.

"There were….complications with the pregnancy" he started, his voice sounding no where near as confident as he intended. Still soft, gentle. He didn't want to see the look on John's face when he finally broke the news, but already the man's eyes were widening in shock.

"She gave birth while you were unconscious" He added, putting off the news as long as he could, but once again e could see in John's eyes that the man new he was about to give him bad news. Though John had no idea just how bad it really was.

"John...the baby is ok. She's safe and healthy, and the nurses are taking care of her but...I'm sorry, Mary didn't make it" He finished quietly.


End file.
